


The Assassin's Word

by Akiko_Natsuko



Series: Reaper76 [64]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Injury, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Royalty, Treachery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 10:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18259799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: Jack couldn’t remember the last time he had felt safe enough to lay there and listen to the sound of his door creeping open, and not reach for the dagger he kept under his pillow. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt safe in his own home, the title of Prince that should have protected him, instead a curse as his father's hatred grew by the day.He couldn't remember the last time he had truly trusted anyone other than Ana. Until a new face, and a new threat at court turn out to be something more.





	The Assassin's Word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaidenM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaidenM/gifts).



 

    It was the slightest increase of the breeze against the back of his neck that alerted Jack, and he didn’t bother glancing up into the mirror before he was moving, lunging out of his seat and grabbing up the ceremonial dagger that he had been waiting to hang from his belt. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than bare hands, as a wickedly curved scimitar carved into the dresser, cutting through where he had been seconds before. A muffled curse had his eyebrows rising, not recognising the tongue, but he didn’t particularly care as it was clear what they had been sent here to do, and he twisted, using his foot to catch the chair that had been sent flying by his first lunge and tossing it into his assailant’s path.

   A grunt told him that he had been on target, although the light patter of feet, barely audible against the polished wood of his bedroom floor didn’t falter, and Jack whirled, unsheathing the dagger just in time to catch a second blow that arched towards his chest. The force behind the blow had him staggering, unable to stop the tip of the blade from biting into his chest, but he didn’t falter, muscles straining as he forced the scimitar up and away. He was taller than the Assassin, and as he pushed them back with a sweeping slash, he realised they were slighter too, and that the hand emerging from the swathes of material that covered them, hiding all distinguishable features from view, was almost delicate. A woman then. It wouldn’t be the first time, and Jack knew better than to assume that meant he had the edge in his fight, the scar that ran down his side more than proof of that.

“I’m guessing my father didn’t warn you what you were going up against?” He asked, almost conversationally as he stepped to the side, avoiding their lunge as they sprang for him together, just managing to parry a second lunge as they turned faster than he had expected. Still, there was a hesitation in the attack that had him grinning, all sharp teeth and bitter eyes as he danced out of range, although there was no amusement in his eyes as he fought back a grimace. Only his father would send another assassin against his son, and not inform then about exactly who their target was. _Not that I should expect any less,_ he thought bitterly, having long since lost count of how many assassins there had been, barely even able to keep track of the ones that had come terrifyingly close to succeeding.

    When he had been younger, and more naïve, he would have tried to talk them down and convince them to flee. Now, he didn’t waste his breath, knowing that if they accepted and fled, then his father would kill them when they reported his failure, still haunted by the grim spectre of the bodies on the rampart. And that most of them didn’t care who he was, or who their employer was, caring for nothing beyond the reward – a handsome one he’d discovered while eavesdropping one day – and spilling his blood.

     Instead, he stepped into the path of the next attack, the scimitar catching his arm as he misjudged his approach, but he didn’t falter or flinch, as he lunged in close. The assassin had no chance to react, the ceremonial dagger, breaking through her defences. Jack had to admit that he was impressed, she didn’t cry out, even as he forced the dagger deeper, the dulled blade resisting all the way. _I’m sorry,_ he thought, as she went slack, pulling back and letting her fall to the ground. Another life lost, and he closed his eyes, adding it to the list he kept in the back of his mind, the weight of all those lives sacrificed so he could survive weighing on him. He might not have started this conflict, but until he died, he knew that his father was going to continue sending assassins after him, a raw, broken noise bubbling up in the back of his throat.

     It became a sharp cry, as the assassin surged upwards, robes flowing like silk as she closed the distance between them, and Jack caught them, his vision whiting out for a moment as her blade sliced deeply into his side.

    As the world came back to him, he realised that she was limp in his arms, and numbly he lifted her and carried her across to the bed, arranging her neatly on top of the furs that covered it. Bowing his head for a moment, before finally glancing down at the wound she had inflicted, eyes widening as he took in the blood now soaking into the side of his tunic, turning the royal blue a deep plum colour and his hand trembled as he reached down and pressed a hand to it. The pain helped ground him, and he pressed down a little harder than was necessary, hissing under his breath as he staggered back…his legs quivering and quaking beneath him, and he knew even before the roaring sound flooded his ears and the ground rushed up to meet him.

_Is it finally over? Am I free…?_

**

The Gods weren’t that kind.

    Jack wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it obviously couldn’t have been long because he was still sprawled where he’d fallen, a worrying amount of blood pooling beneath him. His eyes were heavy, already fighting to close once more as he pushed himself up with one arm, the other pressed against his side once more. _I need help._ This went beyond what he could handle himself, which was concerning as he gathered a lot of healing knowledge over the years because of this very situation, and for a moment he was tempted to just slump back down, and let fate run its course. It wasn’t as though he would be missed. His brother would step into his position as next of line – which John feared more than anything but would probably do a much better job as King than he ever would, and their father would be content once the cursed, first-born who had killed his Queen was gone.

    No, as much as it was tempting, he knew that he couldn’t just give in. _You must live, my darling,_ cool fingers framed his face, soothing and urging all at once and he blinked slowly, half-expecting to see his mother looming over him, elegant gown tattered and filthy as they had been the last time, he’d seen her, a fire in her eyes. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of the empty bedchamber and the body on the bed, and he closed his eyes for a minute, the sensation disappearing him and leaving him bereft yet determined as he resumed trying to push himself upright.

    It took far too long to stagger back to his feet and for a few minutes the entire world disappeared into a dizzying swirl of colours and shapes, until he wasn’t sure which way was up, his stomach rolling violently, and his legs threatening to give way against. _Keep moving,_ he told himself grimly, stumbling forward, knowing that he must look like a drunkard as he stepped forward, weaving from side to side and barely remaining upright. His vision cleared slowly, although there was a haziness around the edges that told him that could change very quickly, and he gritted his teeth and focused on the door.

Get to the door.

Get down the corridor.

Get to Ana.

     It sounded simple when he listed it like that. Deceptively so, but it gave him something to focus on as his side throbbed which step that he took. Still, it got him to the door at least, although it took him a couple of attempts to fumble with the lock to open it. And for the first time he was glad that he was in one of the more sparsely inhabited parts of the castle as there was no one around to witness how he practically tumbled through the doorway. A suit of armour was the next victim of his wavering journey, crashing to the ground as he collided with it and he winced at the sound but made no effort to try and pick it up.

*

    The journey along the corridor seemed to take forever, and Jack had left a trail of mess in his wake as he’d stumbled along, weaving into the wall several times, and he had a brief, bitter thought that at least he was going to leave them something to remember him. Finally, the wall that he had been leaning against, leaving a bloody trail in his wake, gave way to wood and blearily he lifted his head, startled to realise that he had reached his goal, as the elegantly curved eye on the door swam in and out of view in front of him. _Ana. Ana will help,_ he thought as he reached out to knock, only to find himself slumping forward against the door as his strength fled.

“He…” There was copper on his lips, the words lost as the world began to spiral around him once more, and then he was falling again, this time making no effort to try and catch himself. Unaware that his head had struck the door, sending a muffled thud through the chambers beyond, or of feet hurrying towards the door as he lost unconsciousness barely a foot from his goal.

_Ana…_

****

     Ana had been bent over her desk, scribbling notes as she kept half her attention on the solution bubbling away at the hearth, and listening as her daughter played in the bedroom waiting for her to come through and put her to bed. She smiled at the sound, a far cry from how quiet and subdued Fareeha had been when they’d first fled to the castle, and not for the first time she offered thanks to the Gods for giving her the courage to bring her daughter here. It wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it was safe, and it was fast becoming home.

     She was about to put her notes away for the day when there was a dull thud from the door to their chambers, and for a brief, terrifying moment all she could think about was raised voices, and weapons breaking through their defences. _This is different, we’re safe here. Wanted,_ she reminded herself even as she ordered Fareeha to stay in the bedroom as she caught her daughter peering through the doorway, her hand moving to the dagger she always kept at her belt as she walked towards the front door.

“Who’s there?” She called, making sure not to let her uneasiness bleed through into her voice, even if her fingers did tremble a little as she drew the blade when there was no immediate answer. Glancing back to make sure Fareeha had listened to her, she closed the last of the distance and flung open the door, the small blade ready to strike if it was an ambush…and it fell from her hand as her gaze landed on the figure sprawled at her door.

_Jack._

    He looked terrible, and it didn’t her take long to realise why as she traced the blood on the floor back to where his hand had clearly fallen away, fingers bloody, from what looked like a worryingly deep wound in his side.

“Jack,” she shook off her shock, darting to his side and dropping to her knees beside him, lightly tapping his cheeks in an attempt to garner a reaction. His forehead furrowed at the sensation, but he didn’t stir, and her worry rocketed up several notches. “Jack? Your Highness?” She even tried the title that he hated so much, but it the words that would normally turn his eyes stormy and bring a scowl to his face, earned her nothing this time and she cursed before leaning back and glancing back over her shoulder, unsurprised to find that her daughter had disobeyed and crept out of the bedroom. “Fetch me some blankets and a cushion, and then put some water on to boil.” She hated involving her daughter in this, already having a good idea of what had happened as she’d caught sight of the bloody trail leading away back towards Jack’s chambers, but she couldn’t do this alone.

     As soon as Fareeha had darted off to carry out her instructions, although not without a tearful glance at the man who had become something of an ‘uncle’ figure to her since they’d arrived in the castle, she turned her attention back to the Prince. _Damn it, Jack…_ She thought, before rising to her feet and moving around to slip her arms under his shoulders, grunting as she struggled to lift him, and in the end having to settle for awkwardly turning him until she could begin to drag him backwards into her chambers. She muttered an apology as the furrow in his forehead deepened, knowing that she had to be hurting him, but also that there was no other choice, and by the time she had hauled him into the middle of the parlour that now served as her workroom she was sweating and breathing heavily.

“Put the pillow under his head,” she instructed as Fareeha reappeared, hovering nervously just out off to the side, moving aside to give her daughter room to work, she went and closed the door, hesitating for a moment before locking it as well. It wouldn’t protect them for long if whoever had been sent after Jack this time was still alive, but it was all she had right now, especially as she listened to how weak, and ragged his breathing was. “And cover his legs with the blankets,” she added, moving to gather her healer’s kit from the desk, glancing at the hearth, pleased to see that the kettle was already beginning to steam.

“Is he going to be all right?” Fareeha’s voice was small, as Ana moved to kneel beside the pair and Ana hesitated as she glanced at her daughter. She’d always had a policy of not lying to her daughter, but there was fear in the dark eyes that met her gaze, that echoed the feeling in her own chest as she glanced at Jack.

“I don’t know,” she admitted reluctantly, before taking a deep breath and falling into her usual calm as she opened her kit. “But I’m going to do my best to make sure he is, so you’re going to have to help me okay?” This was a far cry from the life she’d imagined they’d have, but as Fareeha dashed the tears from her cheeks and nodded, moving closer so that she could be on hand, she decided that she wouldn’t change a thing. And as she turned her attention to Jack, beginning to gently cut through the ruined tunic to get a better look at his wound, she sent up a prayer for the man that was a large reason for the life they had now.

_Please, let me help him like he helped us…_


End file.
